We chat with author P. C. Cast about Queen of Shadow, which is a passionate and magical epic bringing alive Celtic legend, perfect for romantasy fans who love Sue Lynn Tan and Thea Guanzon and historical fantasy fans of Madeline Miller.
PLUS you can read an excerpt at the end of the interview!
Hi, P.C.! Can you tell our readers a bit about yourself?
Writing is my third career! I’ve been fortunate enough to have had three careers I love: USAF veteran (two active duty tours), high school teacher/college adjunct and since 2001 a published author. I believe life is fuller and more filled with joy when we’re able to do the work we love.
When did you first discover your love for writing and stories?
I wrote my first novel in first grade. The title was BLUBBY THE BLUE WHALE and it followed a flying aquatic mammal whose partner was a little girl who was suspiciously like little me! It hasn’t been published (yet). I don’t remember a time when I couldn’t read or write.
Quick lightning round! Tell us:
- The first book you ever remember reading: Johnny Go Round by Betty Ren Wright
- The one that made you want to become an author: I read Dragonflight by Anne McCaffrey when I was thirteen. I’d always wanted to be an author but this sci-fi book written by a woman staring a MFC showed me it could actually be done.
- The one that you can’t stop thinking about: The Morrow Thieves by the magickal Cherie Dimaline. That incredible book lives in my mind rent free.
Your latest novel, Queen of Shadow, is out now! If you could only describe it in five words, what would they be?
Mythological, matriarchal, passionate, lush and fierce
What can readers expect?
As with all of my books, readers can expect a MFC who is wise and confident and doesn’t need to be saved, and a MMC who becomes worthy of her love. With QoS readers can also expect the ancient Celtic world to come alive for them and the Isle of Skye to fill them with wonder.
Where did the inspiration for Queen of Shadow come from?
While I was researching for the House of Night I travelled to Skye. It was there I first learned of the Great Taker of Heads, the Queen of Shadow, the amazing trainer of heroes, Scáthach. I hiked to the ruins of her castle, Dunscaith, and felt her lingering magick. She inspired the character of Sgiach in House of Night. I’ve waited years to retell the real story of the queen on whom Sgiach was based.
Were there any moments or characters you really enjoyed writing or exploring?
Yes! I loved creating my version of the Celtic Underworld! Scáthach and Cuchulainn’s quest through the different Underworld realms was so satisfying and exciting to write. I dug deep for things that I loved and things that gross me totally out. I’ll be interested to see how my readers respond to it!
Did you face any challenges whilst writing? How did you overcome them?
The challenge with bringing Scáthach alive was filling in huge missing parts of her story. She trained Ireland’s greatest hero, Cuchulainn, and made sure he had the magickal weapon that would solidify his place in history, yet Irish mythology barely gave her a couple paragraphs in the story she enabled. I had a lot of research to do and a lot of puzzle pieces to fit together—but it was well worth it.
What’s next for you?
My next release is the first in a new YA/NA series called The Call of Dark Water. By Breath is the first book and I’m so excited to share it with readers! It’s set in one of my favorite places in the world, Loch Chon in Scotland at the entrance to the Highlands and it feature my favorite of all Scottish fae, kelpies!
Lastly, what books are you looking forward to picking up? Any you’ve read so far this year that you’ve enjoyed?
Ooooh! I’m constantly reading! I just finished Suzanne Palmer’s Ode to the Half-Broken, which was fantastic and I finally got to Weyward by Emilia Hart (it’s been on my TBR pile for ages). It was terrific. And The Bane Witch by Ava Morgyn. Now I want to be a bane witch. I’m looking forward to Granger’s next installment in the Secret World of Maggie Grey and Anne Bishop’s next Isle of Wyrd book.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
“Take the bard with you.”
He stared at Lugh, hoping he had misheard. “Cuchulainn! Take the bard!” the god thundered.
He wanted to shout, My name is Sentanta! But he could not challenge the God of the Sun, even though the God of the Sun was his father. He nodded and remained silent, wishing he could speak to his father rationally about his destiny. Lugh had never been interested in his son’s questions or desires or fears. Lugh was only interested in what glory Cuchulainn was destined to bring him.
Clueless about his son’s inner turmoil, Lugh smiled and stared off into the distance. “Yes, it will make an excellent story someday . . .”
∆∆∆
The morning was clear, though clouds gathered high in the brilliant blue sky, reminding Scáthach of shaggy Highland sheep clustered together before a shearing. She double-checked the harness she’d stepped into—heavy braided hemp covered in supple leather—and the iron ring through which was threaded the fifty-foot length of rope that glided within the structure of the harness. The thick rope snaked a short distance across the stone floor, where it fed into a pulley system, much like the one that lifted and lowered heavy drawbridges. The rope pooled near the pulleys, waiting to be played out as Scáthach needed it. Satisfied that all was as it should be, Scáthach put on her thick leather gloves and pulled herself up to stand atop the parapet that circled the rooftop of Dunscáith Castle. As she gazed westward across the slate-blue water, a flock of seabirds lifted from the whitecapped sea. Scáthach watched them circle low in the saltwater mist and then turn skyward.
Unbidden, a short poem composed itself—as poems often did—and Scáthach released it into the listening breeze. “Birds’ wings slice the clouds / wounding them / portending change.”
“Are you going to compose poetry or go over the side?” came a voice from behind her.
Scáthach turned, giving her daughter, Uathach, a wry smile. “As you know quite well, Little Fry, I am more than capable of doing both.”
Her daughter’s lips tilted up at the familiar nickname. “But did you remember an offering?”
Scáthach raised one sandy blonde brow. “Do you truly think I would summon my immortal giantess mother without an offering?”
Uathach shrugged. “Normally, no. But . . .” Her voice faded and she shrugged again.
“His death has saddened me, not addled my mind.” She patted the heavy leather pouch she’d attached to her belt beside the sheath that held her knife.
Uathach nodded, opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again, pressing her lips together into a line.
Scáthach knew her daughter far too well not to prompt her. “Well? What is it?”
“You rarely invoke Béfionn. Usually it is she who summons you.” When Uathach said no more, Scáthach prompted her again.“Yes,
and?”
“Will it not annoy her? Will your mother even care that he’s dead?” “Béfionn has never admonished me for summoning her.You need not worry about that. As to whether she cares that he is dead—I cannot speak for her, but I remember his sad smile, his kind eyes . . .” Scáthach stared out at the sea, her mind in the past. “I remember his love, and I think she will, too.” She pulled her thoughts up through the years to her daughter. “You know him from his visits. Why does
it seem as if you consider him a stranger?”
“I don’t!” Uathach was quick to say. “I cared for him. I know you did, too. But Grandmother never visited while he was here, even though that would have been the perfect time for the two of them to be together again.”
“Perhaps Mother stayed away out of care, instead of carelessness for his feelings,” Scáthach said. “Regardless, Béfionn should be told, and who better to tell her than me?” She didn’t add that she’d spent the seven days since the messenger had come with the news considering how to tell her mother. She’d finally decided there was no good way to tell bad news—it just had to be told.
“But why doesn’t Grandmother already know he died?” Uathach blurted, and before her mother could answer, she continued. “Béfionn is Goddess of the Underworld. I don’t understand why she wouldn’t be aware of the death of the mortal man she loved well enough to father her only child.”
“Béfionn is Goddess of our Underworld—the Summerlands and the realms of Annwn. Father was a Norseman who honored Odin All Father and Freya as his patrons.There is no way for Mother to know when he entered Valhalla.”
“It doesn’t seem right.”
Scáthach lifted one brow.“No one goddess, no matter how powerful, could possibly oversee every Underworld.” She shook her head. “I would not wish that on Mother or any deity.”
“Well, speaking as the daughter of a powerful, fearless mother, I wish you luck in dealing with yours.”
Scáthach’s wide, full lips tilted up in amusement at her daughter. “Oh, Little Fry, I am not fearless. Only an idiot fears nothing.”
Uathach scoffed and muttered, “That’s not what your students say.”
“Which is exactly why they are students and not fully trained warriors. Now, should I call one of those students to aid me, or will you lower me?” She jerked her strong chin in the direction of the pulley system beside which her daughter stood.
“So now you’re in a hurry? I thought you were composing poetry.”
“Like I said, I am more than capable of doing both.” Scáthach winked at the tall, tawny-haired daughter who looked so much like her, grasped the rope in her gloved hands, and leaped backward off the parapet.
